


Not just a game

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After 4x1, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deviates in Season 4, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Match maker Tyrion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Aware of Brienne's feelings for his brother, Tyrion decides to take matters in his hands, trapping her into a confession.





	Not just a game

“Lady Brienne,” Tyrion greeted her with enthusiasm as soon as she opened the door, “could I have a moment?”

“Of course,” Brienne courteously replied. She stepped aside to let him enter, then led him to a chair. He followed, his keen eyes studying her in, she assumed, an attempt to get the measure of her.

“Today’s my name day,” he told her, once he’d made himself comfortable, “and I--”

“My best wishes to you, Lord Tyrion,” she interrupted with a smile, taking the other chair next to him, “and may you have many more joyous ones to celebrate.”

“Joyous or not, I cannot say, but this does involve a celebration. I have, in fact, come to invite you to dinner tonight,” he said, returning her smile. “Sansa and I were hoping you’d grace the occasion with your presence.”

A wave of nauseating dread rose up her chest at the thought of eating with Cersei. From the beginning, the queen mother had been openly expressing her dislike for her. Though she hadn’t been vocal about it, her eyes had made sure they conveyed _ exactly _what her feelings for Brienne were, looking down upon her as if she were the filthiest scum that crawled the earth, as though she’d snatched away her most valuable possession. 

“My apologies, Lord Tyrion,” she began, working up an excuse to politely refuse his invitation, “I don’t really think I’ll be able to--”

“Cersei won’t be there,” he sharply cut in, his intelligent eyes reading her like a book. “It’s a private dinner in my chambers with just you and Jaime--”

“Ser Jaime?” she couldn’t help blurting out his name for no reason at all, the unexpected reference to him reminding her that she hadn’t seen him for days.

“Yes,” said the younger Lannister, his stare getting more inquisitive as he shifted to the edge of his chair. “I’ve heard you’re a friend of his--”

“Not friend,” she denied before she could check herself, “just an--”

“He speaks very highly of you,” Tyrion informed her, getting up to pace the room, “and quite often, I must say. Much more than he brings up our sister in day-to-day conversations.”

“I’m sure I’ll be forgotten as soon as I leave.” Duty and her vow to Lady Catelyn apart, the certainty of never seeing him again crushed her, so much, that at times, it left her questioning herself, and against her will, her priorities.

“Jaime’s never going to forget you,” came his emphatic reaction. “He holds you in high regard, and never before has he grown this close to anyone outside our family. He--”

“We aren’t close,” she snapped in disagreement again, “we--”

“You spent several moons together,” chipped in Tyrion, continuing his brisk walk around the room, “with no one but each other for company, with no choice but to offer each other a shoulder to cry on when woe befell you, wading through murky waters when there was no other path to walk on, with nothing but each other’s hand to hold on to.” He waddled towards her and came to a halt right in front of her. “The strongest bonds are forged in the most adverse situations, my lady,” he correctly surmised, throwing her back to that bathtub in Harrenhal and the way she’d held him close to her chest with no clothes nor any emotional barrier to keep them apart.

At his analysis, she slipped into her thoughts. The way Jaime looked at her after that fateful experience in Harrenhal, the way he spoke to her - the sudden lack of criticism and taunts, all of this forced her to contemplate the invisible strings that tied her to him. What had been subconsciously bothering her, though, was his budding indifference towards her, his sister, no doubt, the restraining factor, a wedge in their friendship - a relationship, she assumed, was as significant to him as it was to her. 

If only it could have grown to become more than just that. If only there had been no Cersei to--

_ What am I thinking? _

“It would be an honour to join you, Lord Tyrion,” she accepted, anxious to see him off, for she had no inclination to suffer the consequences of his interrogation. 

“I’ll see you then,” beamed Tyrion, and took her leave.

Not one to wear her heart on her sleeve, she slumped to the bed with a heavy sigh, withdrawing into her shell once more, preferring to hide her feelings deep within herself. Accepting, even to herself, what she truly felt about Jaime would only result in heartbreak for her. 

He had always been unattainable. He would always be unattainable.

+++++

Dinner was largely a peaceful affair. Tyrion was cheerful as usual, his passion for wine and jokes the high point of the evening, while Sansa was a girl of few words, speaking only when spoken to, her eyes reflecting an intense sadness even when she tried to smile. 

Jaime, however, was quieter than usual with no witty remarks to accompany him. Once or twice she glanced across the table at him, only to find him looking away hastily, seeking refuge in his food at times, or his glass of wine otherwise. As usual he’d barely acknowledged her that evening, his behaviour leading to thoughts that did nothing to appease her already troubled mind.

“Let’s play a game,” declared Tyrion, breaking into the rapidly spreading unpleasantness in her head.

Jaime was the first to vehemently shake his head. “Not one of your drinking games,” he categorically refused, taking a huge swig of his wine.

“It’s a different game this time,” coaxed his brother.

“Whatever it is, keep me out of it,” said Jaime firmly.

Tyrion turned to her, his eyes beseeching her to comply with his strange request. “What about you, my lady?”

“I--um,” she hesitated.

“Please,” he implored, looking at her with innocence. “It’s my name-day, for my sake, I’d urge you to give it a try.”

She stared down at her wine, in two minds about what to do. “What am I expected to do?” she agreed, at last, albeit reluctantly.

Tyrion set his glass aside and rubbed his hands in delight. “I say a word,” he began explaining, “and you have to reply with the first word that instantly comes to your mind. You have no time to think or deliberate. The response has to be immediate.”

_ That sounds pretty harmless. _“Very well.”

Tyrion began the game. “Kindness.”

“Renly,” came her spontaneous reply, the memory of the dance with him still fresh as if it were yesterday.

They went on, and the game caught fire, speeding up as time passed. Tyrion kept shooting words at her, and she effortlessly batted them away with fitting replies that were at the tip of her tongue.

“Life,” Tyrion continued, leaping off his chair, his enthusiasm now out of bounds.

“Oaths.”

“Tarth.”

This was easy and obvious. “Sapphires.”

“Honour,” went on Tyrion.

“Ser Jaime,” she responded, before she could contain herself.

Tyrion paused to lean across the table towards her. “Really?” he asked.

Not daring to look at Jaime’s reaction, she refused to answer the question. “What’s the next word?”

“Cersei.”

Knocked out by the question, she didn't know what to say.

“You can't take this long,” Tyrion whined.

“Beautiful,” she mumbled, resorting to the obvious again, her chest thudding with a familiar ache.

“Marriage.”

Pat came her reply again, the ache intensifying as she said, “Impossible.”

Tyrion took an extra second to frame the next question, his gaze on her steady and steely, and his tone unusually soft when he whispered, “Love.”

“Ser Jaime.”

It was only after the words left her, did she realize what she’d just done. Her stupid answer led to a spell of ringing silence, neither of the brothers nor Sansa saying another word. Stunned, Brienne couldn’t believe she’d inadvertently spoken out her mind.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly one word,” Tyrion breathed, bringing the awkward quiet to an end, “but it’ll do quite well for an honest answer.”

Brienne got to her feet, her face on fire. “I must leave, Lord Tyrion,” she mumbled, suddenly ill at ease and slightly dizzy. “Pardon me for such an abrupt exit.” 

Sparing a look at none of her table-mates, she bolted off the table and shot straight out of there, stopping nowhere on the way until she’d reached her chambers. Once in, she threw herself against the door, breathing heavily, wishing she could just escape through the window, never having to show her face to any Lannister again. How could she have been this careless? How could she have let slip so flippantly the most intimate secret she’d been holding on to. How could she have made a fool of herself in front of the man she admired and loved to bits?

Finding only one way out of her growing anguish, she decided to speak to Jaime tomorrow and tell him that she wanted to leave King’s Landing. Never again did she want to see him, his handsome face and the achingly soft tone he adopted with her off late tearing her to pieces, holding her mind hostage, preventing her from focussing on what she’d come here to do.

“Brienne, open the door.”

The knock on the door jolted her, the impact of his fist carrying through all the way to her back, and she withdrew from the door.

“I can’t see you now,” she shouted, fervently hoping he’d leave her alone and in peace.

“I’m going nowhere, wench.” The way he announced his decision, she could sense traces of the earlier Jaime in him, something in his tone telling her that he had every intention of standing by his word. “I want to talk to you and I’m going to stand here all night if need be, if you don’t--”

Unwilling to give him an opportunity to execute his threat, she opened the door, wanting to take this chance to tell him that she wished to take Sansa and leave.

“You left without a word to me,” he complained, huffing to catch his breath as he slid past her into the room.

“I had nothing to say,” she said, crossing her arms against her chest, refusing to let her heart be intimidated and melt in his presence.

He frowned, his gaze hard and intent. “Except that you love me?”

She gulped, but refused to avert her eyes, looking straight into his, hoping she could withstand the power in them. She searched for words to cover her lapse. “That was a mistake--”

“What _ exactly _ was the mistake?” he counter-questioned, drawing closer. “Falling in love with me? Or admitting that you’re in love with me?” 

Angered by the authoritative demand in his voice, she raised her voice a notch. “That’s none of your concern. Now if you’ll be kind enough to--”

“It was _ me _you were talking about, wench,” he said, reducing his voice to a low growl. “So it does become my concern whether you like it or not.”

“I told you it was a mist--”

“It wasn’t,” he asserted, stepping into her personal space. “I can see it in your eyes.”

This was too much for her to bear and she found herself crumbling. “So what if I’m in love with you?” she cried defiantly, unable to shy away from her feelings anymore. “You have nothing to worry, Ser Jaime, because I expect nothing from you. I know you bear no such feelings for me. You love your sister. She’s always been your destination, your soulmate,” she went on, her chest getting heavier with every word she uttered. “Your prolonged indifference towards me is no surprise, for it is she who has been consuming you--” 

The words she’d meant to attack him with were lost in transit, and the next few seconds were a blur. Leaving her no chance to resist, he had her pinned to the door, his lips on hers, his stump around her waist and his fingers stroking her face. She wanted to convince herself that this was merely an illusion, a cruel way of the gods to punish her for her lack of action towards Sansa, but all she could do was melt into him, her mouth in perfect harmony with his, her body in seamless conjunction with his. He pressed into her, his firm chest pushing against her soft breasts, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He kissed her hard, devouring her, plundering her with such wild aggression that left her worried that she’d end up with bruised and swollen lips for days to come.

“S--Ser Jaime,” she moaned weakly, reeling from the impact of the kiss when he’d decided to show mercy and let go, “that was just a game--”

“My turn to speak,” he mouthed into her lips, the warmth of his body sending out all sorts of dangerous signals to every part of her. “And it was _ not _ just a game, Brienne, you and I know that quite well.”

She tried to push aside the effect his wayward fingers had on her, snaking across her bare skin, lingering at places where she’d never known a feathery touch could set up tumultuous explosions within her. “I don’t expect you to--”

“I know you don’t,” he interrupted, planting another kiss on her lips. “You’ve never expected anything from anyone, have you? Always giving, be it Renly or Catelyn Stark or Sansa. But it’s time to change that now, my lady. As it’s time now for me to realize that I’ve been chasing the wrong destination all these years, when my soulmate--” he tenderly pushed a thick lock of hair off her forehead “--was elsewhere, to be found in the dingy baths of Harrenhal.”

Her heart leapt to her throat. This was real. This was happening. And she found it hard to believe it.

“My indifference was nothing but a desperate escape route I've been resorting to, a sub-conscious denial of something as beautiful as this,” he went on, flashing her a charming smile. “Marriage isn't impossible, wench, unless you want it to be. I may not be the man your father has in mind for you, but I think I’ll do, won’t I?”

She had to smile this time, joy nudging away every negative emotion that clouded her. “I’ll give it a thought,” she teased, deliberately throwing him an evasive reply.

His lips touched hers again. “Given how desperately in love I am with you, I don’t think that’s really a viable option, unless you want to torture me, wench.” 

Giving her no window to resist nor oppose, he began kissing her again, making her feel like the most beautiful, the most blessed woman in all the seven kingdoms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
